


warcrimes mcgee

by zenith (naanobytes)



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, JUST GUYS BEIN DUDES, Light Angst, M/M, but more on the m/m side of things, can be taken as m/m or gen, idk dude i just... love boys, it’s just a mess idk what else to tag with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 12:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naanobytes/pseuds/zenith
Summary: Yes, Therion hated playing support, but perhaps he hated the idea of not having Cyrus more. He felt slightly bad for that thought, as H’aanit and Ophilia had hardly ever been anything but kind to him, but it was alwaysCyrusthat rooted him to the spot, unable to move.—alternate title: just guys bein’ dudes with some feelings involved
Relationships: Cyrus Albright & Therion, Cyrus Albright/Therion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	warcrimes mcgee

**Author's Note:**

> so this is one of the first fics i’m posting on ao3 in years. i’m surprised that of all things, it’s octopath traveler, and of all things, it’s cytheri. therius? whatever!
> 
> i didn’t expect to fall for these two boys this hard and this fic is kind of a mess of me just exploring their characters a little bit- but the cytheri ficbase on ao3 is so small, i felt like i had to post it for the few of us out there!!
> 
> so, for the few of you currently reading this, try not to pay too much attention to my garbage writing and enjoy the fic!

Cyrus ‘Warcrimes McGee’ Albright.

The name had originally been Therion’s idea, naturally, because Ophilia and H’aanit were both much too kind to even think of such things.

An odd nickname, it definitely was, but there was a pretty excellent reason behind the name. 

It was no secret that Cyrus was the powerhouse of their team of four. They had a system that, while not quite perfect, worked quite well for them. Therion buffed him to the high hells and donated all the SP he could contain, H’aanit broke the shields with her powerful, multi-hitting attacks, while Ophilia kept them alive and well, so that Cyrus could unleash a torrent of magic. With his various mix of spells- a good 2/3s of those available- and divine skill, as well as his naturally high magic capabilities and his scholarly brain, able to pick out the weaknesses of any opponent and exploit them, Cyrus simply obliterated everything in his path. His inquisitive yet amiable personality also suited him well for the leadership role he’d undoubtedly taken on.

Naturally, Therion had always been perturbed at this. He’d never been a team player, seeing as impoverished thieves didn’t exactly have many _friends_, and the ones he did have he kept distant, so acting as the professor’s support often ticked him off- especially since he was such a smarmy bastard. 

However, whenever Therion woke up in the middle of the night, everyone else asleep around him, and contemplated leaving the team and striking out on his own- it would be so easy, for he could simply leave his sleeping compatriots and not come back- it was always Cyrus’s face that popped into his head and made him unable to crawl out from underneath his blankets, grab his things, and leave forever.

One day, back in Atlasdam, when the three of them had left Cyrus to fawn over his books, (The three of them less interested, as H’aanit hardly read, Ophilia had only read scripts about the Sacred Flame, and Therion just didn’t care) he’d asked the other two about their thoughts.

It had taken longer for Ophilia to respond than H’aanit, who had immediately talked. However, what they’d said had not differed much at all- in fact, most of what they said echoed Therion’s thoughts.

Key word, _most._

They had talked about how originally, they were planning on striking off alone, before realising that chances were, it was better to go with the incredibly powerful scholar, who was trying to accomplish a quest of his own. They realised along the way that they really wouldn’t have been able to do it themselves, despite their own pride-  
but that was where the similarities stopped. Or, so he thought, at least.

H’aanit and Ophilia had both agreed that along the way, they’d come to think of Cyrus as a friend. The four of them were a group- that was how it was. Stuck in space, an unchanging constant in their tumultuous world of battle and travel. They’d began their own journeys with purely selfish motives, but throughout them, they’d found their relationships developing, and their motives complexifying by the day. Yes, their original goal was still front and centre, but without each other, not only did it _physically_ seem impossible, but mentally, as well.

Therion had let out a long sigh, at that, for while he agreed with the foremost part, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the latter. He was so reluctant to consider anybody his friend, after Darius had thrown him away like a piece of used parchment and tried to kill him- his mistrust was well-placed, he believed- but at the same time, he wasn’t stupid. He clearly had an emotional attachment, beyond Cyrus’s terrifying magical strength- after all, every time he thought of leaving, it was always the image- the concept- of Cyrus that had him shying away from actually doing it. Not his battle skills, nor Therion’s own determination to remove his fool’s bangle, but Cyrus himself. Pure and unadulterated.

Yes, Therion hated playing support, but perhaps he hated the idea of not having Cyrus more. He felt slightly bad for that thought, as H’aanit and Ophilia had hardly ever been anything but kind to him, but it was always _Cyrus_ that rooted him to the spot, unable to move.

What was it? Friendship? Affection? Something else? He wasn’t sure- it was an awfully complicated thought for him. More complicated than the stars above him in their endless constellations, dotting the darkness with spots of light- so small in comparison to all the emptiness out there, but shining on regardless. Sometimes he wondered if he was really _anything._ Was Therion-

Therion?

“Therion?”

The thief jumped at the voice, eyes going wider and head swinging around to locate the voice, hand on the hilt of his dagger, moving by instinct before he could process the situation at hand. His only thought was of an accented voice, different from his own. It must be Da-

“Alright, please calm down there, Therion.” A nervous chuckle, much unlike Darius’ sinister laughter, chimed in his ears, and the voice’s accent was much more pleasant and much softer than the one that Darius boasted. 

Cyrus.

Briefly, the thief felt embarrassment flood his body- warmth reaching the tips of his ears, as well as everywhere else. He was one of the best thieves on Orsterra- his ears and eyes fine-tuned, so that he would never be caught off guard. However, here he was, hanging over Cyrus with his legs straddling his waist, dagger to his throat, as the scholar looked up at him after he’d been caught off guard.

Hesitantly, Therion drew his dagger away from its deadly position, and he heard the audible sigh that Cyrus let out- watched his long-fingered hand flick to where the blade nearly touched his skin, as if he was just making _sure_ it was still intact.

“Many thanks,” the scholar murmured, bringing himself to his feet and dusting off his dark clothes with both hands. “My intentions in following after you were not to fall victim to your dagger.” When the scholar was seemingly satisfied with the condition of his robes, he looked up from them and at Therion.

“Professor. What are you doing out so late?” the thief asked, suspicion quirking his brows high on his forehead, voice venomous to make up for the embarrassment he still felt at being surprised by _Cyrus_ of all people, whose fancy shoes clicked on the floor. He was seriously off his game tonight.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he laughed, stepping forward to stand at Therion’s side, overlooking the cliffs beneath them. “I noticed you awake and depart. You took none of your personal belongings, so I assumed that you would be back. However, I decided to check on you, due to you being absent for quite a while.”

Therion’s heart fluttered for a moment, before he inwardly cursed it and shoved the offender back down into his chest. He didn’t know much about what _that_ was, but it was gross, and he hated it. There was little for him to say back- at least, in his mind- and thus, he too turned to the edge, and the view.

It was quite a pretty sight. From the high vantage point that they’d decided to camp out at for the night- hidden between two shelves of rock creating a natural crevice, sheltered from the wind and the sun in the day- it was only a short walk to a small little cleft, where it was possible to see _everything._ A river passing down the centre like a thick string, surrounded on either side by tall sheets of rock that, when down by the riverbank, seemed to climb up to the heavens themselves. However, from this view, they appeared oh so much smaller. The rocks were intricately carved by nature, though plain in colour, but the entire world stretching out around the Cliftlands- the night sky, dotted liberally with white, Orsterra’s moons visible in orbit- a whole picture seemed to be completed perfectly.

Therion was content to sit in silence until Cyrus grew bored and went back to bed- but with Cyrus and his big mouth, he really should have known better than to just _assume_ that Cyrus would just shut up and leave.

“You’re thinking of leaving the group, right?”

The question came seemingly out of nowhere, catching him off guard- he blinked quickly, head turning towards Cyrus, eyes meeting his. His expression must have betrayed his guilt and surprise, as Cyrus let out a small laugh and looked back out to the sky, his cape blowing in the breeze, a smile tilting up the corners of his mouth. Even Therion wasn’t so emotionally stunted that he couldn’t pick up the melancholy gleam in the professor’s eyes. 

“I suspected as much. Conversations with H’aanit and Ophilia about their purpose on this journey, your reluctance to call any of us a friend, sneaking off in the middle of the night to spend time alone…” He let out a sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, letting the wind card its harsh fingers through his hair. “I suppose you are not satisfied with your role in the group, hm?”

Now, Therion was stupid and emotionally stunted, as previously mentioned, but one thing that he _did_ know from having been around Cyrus for so long, was that the dude had quite a serious self-esteem problem. He’d seen him train harder than anyone else to increase his elemental capabilities, seen him hunched over spellbooks for days on end (and not just for knowledge), heard him undermine his own skills, even after completely decimating the battlefield- the list went on. Of course, he also knew some of it wasn’t actually self-esteem, because Cyrus was Cyrus and he loved to read and learn and practice, and he, by nature, wasn’t one to boast about that- but the darkness in his eyes was what lead Therion to believe Cyrus had a self-esteem issue. The light he usually had, illuminating his eyes, was dimmed every time that he commented a spell was ‘not bad.’ 

Cyrus’ humbleness was quite an admirable quality in him, Therion had to admit. The scholar was seemingly being perfect in every way, with silky hair and a honeyed voice, incredible intellect as well as power, and said humble personality despite it all. Therion couldn’t lie to him.

“Yes. I am. Have been for quite a while. What’s the point of travelling in a group, if your only role in that group is to play support for others? Especially when you’re not the type.” He crossed his arms, letting his eyes close briefly. 

Cyrus let out a laugh, but it was lacking his usual easygoing humour. “Ah, Therion. Ever the honest one. It is truly appreciated. Well, I suppose we are all so near done our journeys, there is little point in-“

“_But,_” Therion interrupted, turning to Cyrus and extending a hand, laying one finger over his lips in a silencing gesture. “A team’s more than just the sum of its parts. We’re friends.” He shrugged, looking away, feeling warm embarrassment creep underneath his face. His other hand came up self-consciously, to bunch his scarf up around his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think I could strike off on my own even if I tried.”

It was a bit of an embarrassing declaration for a lone wolf such as himself, but his journey, the journey of his teammates, what they had done for him and, on a much lesser note, what _he_ had done for _them_, had steered his mind. He was afraid to let people back in after Darius, his first real friend due to his life of thievery, betrayed him- but he’d come around to the idea of the three people he was travelling with being different than that red-haired prick, with the help of Cordelia Ravus and Heathcote. He was starting to _trust_ again, and he didn’t want to trust anyone more than his teammates. Perhaps Cyrus’ concern for him had just been what had finally pushed him in their direction.

“So… Shut up. Stop talking for _once_ and let’s just sit and be quiet and enjoy-“ His sentence was cut off by his loud yawn, the sound muffled in the soft material of his scarf. Cyrus’ hand brushed his own as he turned to the side and sat down, bunching his knees up to his chest and looking out over the Cliftlands. Without a word, Cyrus sat beside him, letting his long legs stretch out in front. 

Per Therion’s request, he didn’t talk at all. Just pulled a book out of his cloak- did he really just carry those shits around?- and began to read. However, Therion could see that the light had returned to his eyes. Drowsy, and oddly contented, he let his head fall against Cyrus’ shoulder. The last sensation he felt was something thin, but warm, being wrapped around his body, and some body heat at his side, before he slipped into sleep.

That was how H’aanit and Ophilia found them the next morning, after Ophilia had woken up and panicked upon seeing them out of their beds, fearing that they’d been eaten by a giant condor, and had proceeded to wake up H’aanit, who had lead the search for them. She clunked both of them on the head with the wood of her bow for sleeping out in the cold without any blankets, and Cyrus, for not sleeping at _all_. At least he’d kept Therion warm, pressed to his side and underneath the cloak he was still wearing; but his wellbeing was still important.

Ophilia only knew so much healing magic, and nothing that cured a cold- she wasn’t very good at status effects- so she simply pulled H’aanit’s fur wrap off of her shoulders and wrapped it around Cyrus’ instead, lightly chiding him in the same way that H’aanit did. 

However, Cyrus didn’t look unhappy, with his arm and cloak wrapped around the still-sleeping Therion- who was quite adorable, they decided, his normally creased and harsh features so soft in sleep- and so they gave the two a bit more time to themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact 
> 
> i don’t have a fun fact
> 
> hope you enjoyed, even just a little bit!


End file.
